John Casey - Compass Rose

Elsie said, “Why not stick with L–I? It’s very pretty — if you choose L-E-I-G-H, some people will pronounce it ‘lay.’ If you spell it L-E-A they might say ‘lee-ah’ or ‘lay-ah.’ When I see ‘L-E-E,’ I say it longer than ‘Li.’ When I see ‘Li,’ I hear a short, bright sound — a little ring to it.”

Li laughed. “You explain things like Miss Perry.” Then she looked down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Hey — it’s just us. When it’s just us, we can take it easy every so often.” Elsie was surprised at her own mildness. At home she’d been either biting someone’s head off or enforcing silence by being heavily silent herself. Now she felt clear and nimble, just another of the Tran girls, moving weightlessly.

This mildness served Elsie well for the few days that Miss Perry lay still. Miss Perry didn’t recognize Elsie, didn’t suck on the plastic straw that Elsie put in her mouth. During the afternoon of the third day Miss Perry became restless, tried to put her hand on her face. Elsie thought it might be because of the flickering of sunlight. The leaves outside the window were stirring in the light air. Elsie got up and pulled the curtain. It bunched on the curtain rod. As she reached up to smooth it she heard Miss Perry’s breath catch. It caught twice, hesitated, was gone.

Elsie lost the next minute or minutes. It was only when Li came in that she knew she must have called out. When Li bent over and put her ear to Miss Perry’s lips, Elsie remembered that she herself had bent over and listened, but it seemed to have happened a long time before.

Elsie called Mary Scanlon first. Mary made a long sympathetic noise and then told Elsie to open a window in Miss Perry’s room. Elsie didn’t ask why. She called the doctor, who said he’d come right over. Elsie said, “No hurry,” and was embarrassed. The blood came back to her cheeks.

While she was on the phone Li had made the bed neater. Miss Perry’s arms were on top of the covers by her sides, and her eyes were closed. Li said, “Do you want to be alone?”

Elsie said, “No.” Then, “Yes.”

Li had pulled the curtain back and opened the window. Elsie said, “Wait. Is that a Catholic thing — opening the window?”

Li blushed and said, “No. It’s just an old superstition.” Elsie nodded. She sat down, closed her eyes, and floated. Her chin sank a little, but her head kept on nodding as if bobbing in a current. She was blank and that was all right, let whatever was happening happen, she’d stay out of the way.

When the doctor came, the sun was much lower and she was mute. The doctor looked at Li, and Li gathered Elsie up with an arm around her shoulders. Li took her down the stairs. Elsie stopped on the last broad stair, where she’d nursed Rose on one side and held Miss Perry on the other. Mary Scanlon came in the front door.

Elsie said, “What happens now?”

“It’s all right,” Mary said. “They’ll take care of things upstairs. You’ve done everything. Hasn’t she, Li? Right up to the last.” Mary drove Elsie home in her little truck, continuing to murmur a white noise of common comfort.

Jack took over. Mary blamed herself since she’d been the one to call him to say that Miss Perry was dead, and she’d gone on to say that Elsie could use some help. Jack installed a secretary at Miss Perry’s house to answer the phone, he called the local newspapers and the Providence Journal , he called the Episcopal priest. All that was okay. But he called again to say he’d decided to have the reception at Sawtooth. Mary said, “That’s generous of you.” Jack cleared his throat in a way that Mary thought meant he’d bill the estate. He changed the subject. He said, “I’ve got an idea for the music. A couple of hymns that we’ll all sing; I’ve been looking through the hymnal. But then I also thought we should have a little Latin for Miss Perry. And it would make the RCs feel at home. There’s Mr. Salviatti and all those Teixeiras and the Tran girls. They’re not Buddhists, are they? The Agnus Dei from the Verdi Requiem. It’s a duet for soprano and mezzo-soprano. Didn’t Rose sing at the Teixeira girl’s wedding?” Jack didn’t pause after either question. “So there we are,” he said. “You and Rose. The organist is on board, and the padre says you can rehearse in the church. After the service the timing might be a little tight for you to get back to the kitchen, but the rest of the staff’ll be there.”

He said good-bye before Mary could say any of the things that occurred to her. When Elsie got back — she’d gone for yet another long walk in the woods — Mary told her, thought she was telling it the way she usually told stories about preposterous Jack. Mary added, “I think I know what’s going on. He’s having a grand dream about his own funeral.”

But Elsie seized on the phrase “might be a little tight for you to get back to the kitchen.” She repeated it twice and then said, “That thick son of a bitch.” When Elsie picked up the phone, Mary said, “Don’t,” but she saw that Elsie had gone into a zone of rage, a rage she’d been storing up, and why not let her fire it off at Jack?

But Elsie apparently got Sally on the phone. She said, “Tell him to call me. Have him call me before he does anything else.” Then she listened for a long time. She finally said, “Don’t tell me not to get upset. And don’t tell me that he’s trying to spare me. This is more like some gala promotional event for Sawtooth.”

Elsie hung up. Mary waited while Elsie banged around the room. Mary was amazed at Elsie, at how fast she’d turned into an angry little ball. For a day or two she’d been a cloud, her comings and goings so soft Mary had to look to see if Elsie was in or out. Now Mary was wary of Elsie’s filling the room. Mary said, “It’s more his tone than anything else, isn’t it? I mean, I’m happy to do whatever has to be done in the way of cooking. There is going to be a crowd when you come to think of it. If you want to put your hand to things, it wouldn’t be a bad idea. For one thing, it’d be better if you picked the pallbearers.”

Elsie sat down. “Pallbearers. I guess that’s right. How many does it take?”

“Six, I think.”

“All men? Do they have to be men?”

“I don’t know as there’s a rule. I’ve only ever seen men. The casket weighs enough so they have to put some muscle into it.”

“I’m not sure Captain Teixeira’s up to it.”

“It depends on who else.”

“I suppose Dick and Charlie and Tom.”

“They’d make up for Captain Teixeira.”

“I suppose I should ask Jack. He’s a cousin of some kind. How many is that?”

“Five.”

“I could do it myself.” Elsie lifted her head. “But then there I’d be in front of half of South County alongside Dick.”

Mary said, “I don’t know as how people would make much of that. But you may be right that now’s not the time to be trying something different. Why not one of the Tran boys? Or old Mr. Tran himself? Miss Perry took more of an interest in the girls, but Mr. Tran could stand for all of them.”

Elsie nodded. Then she cried a bit, not hard. She sniffed and dabbed her cheeks with her cuff. She said, “You’re right. I should get busy. You’re right. You are …” She made fists with her hands and pressed them hard against each other. “A wonderful friend.”

Mary almost laughed at the effort it took Elsie to get that out. Then she thought, How am I going to tell her I’m leaving?

May had just got off the phone with Elsie when it rang again. May was thinking of how to get in touch with Charlie on the R.V. Trident , of whether he could get back for the funeral, so at first she was pleased to hear a woman’s voice say that she was going to give Charlie a ride home. A ride was a help, since May’s car was in the shop. May wondered if Elsie could have radioed the ship to tell Charlie about Miss Perry, but then the woman said, “Charlie’s all right, I’m sure he’s going to be fine.”